


I Hear You through these Walls

by VanillaDaydreams



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaDaydreams/pseuds/VanillaDaydreams
Summary: The sounds that drift through the unbelievably thin walls of Aomine’s bedroom are neither of shouting matches, wailing babies nor couples in the throes of love-making. No, he finds them more intriguing than that. As he lies awake in the dark, Aomine hears his new neighbor cry in the showers during the unholy hours of the night.And the walls around Aomine’s heart may just break, as he piece together the puzzle of what might be the cause of his neighbor’s heartache.AoKise One-shot. Neighbors!AU





	I Hear You through these Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Isinulat para kay Que-Tea! Muli, maraming salamat. Hindi ko lang alam kung magugustuhan mo ito, ngunit, ang pangako ay pangako. : )

_Some people are artists. Some people themselves, are art._

_\--Anonymous_

* * *

 

Walls. Aren’t they supposed to enclose, mark boundaries and shelter one’s privacy?

If walls actually do that, then this particular wall in his house is failing miserably to serve its purpose.

It’s disconcerting, really, how this wall that separates his bedroom from the neighbor’s bathroom is so unbelievably thin, he can almost hear every sound from the other side while he’s languidly slumped underneath the blankets of his king-sized bed, all lights flicked off, ever so ready to call it a day.

…There’s the sound of the door closing.

…There’s the all-too-familiar squeak of the shower knob being turned, followed by a rush of flowing water hammering against the bathroom floor.

But then, there’s something else and it’s almost bothersome that he doesn’t have to strain hard to hear.

A broken sob breaks through.

Somebody’s crying on the other side.

 

* * *

 

 

With a sigh, Aomine Daiki pulls the pillow from under his head and uses both hands to smack it hard against his face. His new neighbor is crying in the showers _again_.

Some moments later, he tosses the pillow aside to count on his fingers. In less than two weeks since his new neighbor moved in, Aomine has heard her cry in the showers at night for like, four times already.

He thought he’d be relieved, now that the grumpy old lady who used to own the house next door has finally moved out.  Miyako-san, his former neighbor for three insufferable years, loves blaming Aomine’s dog for her ruined flower pots, even though Aomine lives alone and doesn’t have any pets. Aomine has explained the situation several times, but the old lady seems to deliberately forget this particularly vital detail and so the exasperating blame game continues until her final day in the neighborhood.

And now, he gets a cry-baby next door who unabashedly weeps at the unholy hours of the night while in the showers.

For this, Aomine wants to clap himself at the back for having such interesting neighbors, although this is actually a very minor inconvenience that he has to deal with. For five years, he’s grown to love every bolt and nut, every nook and cranny of his humble abode. If Aomine is going to be critical about living here, there’s really nothing much to whine about, maybe except for the thin walls in his bedroom but at least, he tells himself, the sounds that get through aren’t of wailing babies or couples in a shouting match, or worse, he gulps, couples in the throes of love-making.

The thing is, he’s still got so much to learn about the newcomer next door.

Under the pitch darkness of his bedroom, he wonders what she looked like and how her speaking voice would sound. He tries to picture in his imagination if she has big boobs and has fair skin in contrast to his (because shower and naked bodies go hand-in-hand together). Aomine hasn’t set eyes on her yet, but assumes she’s a SHE, judging from the girly, soulful songs being played from the other house that he hears occasionally. Aomine has not heard voices or any conversations from across the wall so he figures that this girl must be living alone just like himself.

And then she fucking cries a lot, so no more question there.

He’s heard a few more rounds of whimpering and sniffling. Turning to his side, he shuts his eyes with a groan, his last thoughts before drifting off to sleep are on how freaking complicated women can get.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of days later, Aomine finally lays his eyes on the weeper next door. It happened just as he was taking out the trash one morning when the front door of his neighbor’s house creaks open. Aomine gets first dibs on the person’s back while his neighbor locks the door to the house. When said neighbor turns around, it’s nothing short of an epiphany. First, Aomine is shocked that the new occupant at the house next to his is actually a MAN—probably the same age as himself, with smooth blond hair flowing in neat layers like a permanent halo around his head. He’s got one ear pierced, and is casually dressed in a white V-neck shirt and a pair of tattered jeans. And Aomine has never seen a guy appear so dapper in just plain t-shirt and jeans before. He seems as tall as Aomine, but not quite, and the guy sports the same athletic build, but a tad leaner, with milky-fair skin, just like the male models Aomine sees on TV commercials.

Aomine stares with his mouth hanging open like a complete idiot and is somewhat thankful that the blond has gone into the opposite direction, not quite aware that he’s standing just a few meters behind.

“Beautiful,” Aomine whispers to himself and continues to watch as his neighbor momentarily halts and turns at the corner of the street before completely disappearing from his sight.

 

* * *

 

Aomine, having the liberty to work at home being a freelance illustrator and graphic artist, rarely leaves his house except to go to the gym or visit the laundromat or go get some groceries—all such things on a regular basis. He jogs or plays basketball in a nearby street court on some mornings, too, to augment the predictable string of activities that he has. But for the most parts of the day, he’s just staring in front of two-wide screen computer monitors, puttering alternately between the tablet and the mouse for all his design projects. Or sometimes he sits on the living room couch where there’s a large window and ample lighting. From there, he picks up his sketchbook and charcoal pencil and does some detailed drawings of his ideas before digitizing them.

His best friend, Momoi Satsuki, constantly worries about how much of a social hermit Aomine has become due to the nature of his job, so she usually drops by if just to check on him every now and then.

At one time while they were hanging out in his house, Aomine nonchalantly mentions to Satsuki the crying incidents he’s been hearing at night.

“Does it bother you much?” She asks.

“Not really,” he tells her, while he’s sketching an image of a golden retriever that he passed by some time earlier. But then, he admits that he is kind of curious because the guy’s been crying on most nights.

“Let’s invite him over, then!” Satsuki thoughtfully suggested. That will be interesting, bringing someone new in his best friend’s boring-as-cardboard life.

Aomine throws her a petulant look. “I haven’t exchanged a word with him yet. Not even a ‘hi’. I doubt he even knew I existed.”

“Then, let’s go right now, c’mon!” she nudges him, excitement, lighting her eyes.

“No way, are you serious?” he asks, not quite believing that his best friend is actually considering this. He turns right back into his drawing, penciling out the sharp outlines of the dog’s head on paper.  

“C’mon, Dai-chan! Let’s go be friends with him!” she snatched the pencil from his hand rather abruptly, causing dog’s ear that he’s been working on to be distorted.

Several hard slaps later, Aomine finds himself standing beside Satsuki right at the front door of the blond’s house.

Satsuki softly knocks. “Helloooo!” she calls. No answer.

“Anybody home?” she calls again, while Aomine fidgets uneasily beside her. He thinks this is too ridiculous. Why would the blond want to hang out with strangers? What if this is a very bad time?

Satsuki pounds a little harder on the door. “Hey, we got pizzaaa!”

“Stop.” Aomine pulls her right wrist before it comes to another contact with the wooden door. He shakes his head. “He’s probably not at home. I’ll get my chance someday”

Satsuki looks at the door then back at Aomine. “Perhaps, you’re right. But knowing you, it could take forever.”

 

* * *

 

Thankfully, the chance that he’s been waiting for does not take forever to occur, as opposed to what Satsuki initially predicted.

A week later, Aomine runs into the blond just as he was returning home from the gym.

Velvet blue orbs meet with warm, honey-colored ones and each has held the other’s gaze if just for a few, fleeting seconds of eternity.

For the first time, he finds that the blond’s eyes are quite disarming and yet, achingly sad.

But then, the blond lets out an endearing smile, the kind that reaches into his doleful, honeyed eyes which, as Aomine further notices, have been resting under a crown of infinitely long lashes.

And Aomine can’t help but smile back, while he imprints the blond’s lovely face in his memory. But the words, regrettably, remain unsaid in his lips, all practiced introductions quite forgotten.

Their shoulders almost brushed as they passed each other in that one, intimate moment at the sidewalk.

And there are no words for the encounter, Aomine is sure. He briefly turns his head towards the blond while the rest of him falls silent and still, save for the fervent beating of his heart within his chest.

The smile. He lets it linger in his mind for a while.

He’s immediately drawn into the tools of his trade as soon as Aomine enters his house. He goes to sharpen his pencil, and when he thinks it’s ready enough to endure the grinding work ahead, he grabs the battered sketchpad from under the coffee table. With tempered strokes of the pencil against the linen paper, Aomine begins tracing the face that launched the thousand ships in him.

 

* * *

 

In the days that came by and during the nights that he hears his neighbor crying, Aomine’s thoughts have been filled with a single, definite purpose. Oh, whatever he’ll give just to see the blond’s endearing smile and bring back the light in his eyes.

At one point, Aomine makes another sketch of the blond, gazing out the window into a sky full of stars. Instead of signing his name, he wrote a short, encouraging note at the bottom part of the paper:

_“Be strong now, because things will get better._

_It might be stormy now, but it can’t rain forever.”_

 Aomine gently folds the paper, tucks it in the back pocket of his pants and grins at himself. Later today, he’ll put it in the blond’s mailbox.

 

* * *

 

 

Once or twice a week, Aomine will secretly drop a note into his neighbor’s mailbox at the wee hours of the morning or whenever he chances on seeing the blond leave his house. Then Aomine, feeling much too stupid after, will quickly rush home and shut the door like a delinquent kid who’s too afraid to be discovered for his crimes.

While taking short breaks from his art projects, Aomine can’t help but imagine the blond’s reaction to finding his sketches. He grows fond of the idea that the blond is looking forward to his notes every day and maybe, locks them in a special drawer close to his bed, and at night, when he feels like crying, goes over them and feels better somehow.

To Aomine’s credit, the sobbing through the other side of the wall has become less and less frequent.

 

* * *

 

But then, Aomine’s best friend is surely the nosiest human being alive.

Satsuki just loves poring over his stuff, well, his artworks, and makes unsolicited comments on whatever that she can get her eyes or hands into. To be fair, he knows that he’s only got himself to blame on this particular incident when he abruptly shuts and tries hiding the sketchbook behind the throw pillows on the couch the moment Satsuki steps into his living room.

“What are you hiding, Dai-chan?” she inquires good-naturedly at first, while she lays two pint-sized pistachio flavored ice cream tubs on the table before them.

“Nothing,” he looks away, yet he knows that guilt is written all over his face and Satsuki reads them in boldfaced letters. “Good thing you brought ice cream,” he adds in a rather laughable attempt to evade Satsuki’s inquisition.

“What are you drawing?”

“None of your business.”

“Dai-chan, are you drawing porny Mai-chan again?”

“No!”

Satsuki wrestles him on the couch until she finally gets hold of Aomine’s sketchbook. And since he knows better than fight Satsuki, Aomine doesn’t clamor to snatch the object back, for fear of damaging the delicate work within its pages. His best friend flips through the sketchbook with curious fingers, her face somewhat trapped between amazement and disbelief at what she’s seeing. “Who is this? Wait, don’t tell me… this is the guy living next door?”

“Hush. Please.”  Aomine puts an exasperated palm over his face.

Satsuki skims through the rest of the sketchbook quickly and the same gentle face greets her on most of the pages. Even the margins of some are filled with doodles of this guy who owns a pair of eyes set under thick lashes. She looks at Aomine and shakes her head. “Wow, you’re crushing hard on him,” she muses.

He feels his cheeks burning at that remark. And like a cornered prey, he can’t think of any witty comeback to defend himself.

“He looks dreamy,” Satsuki comments, as she gathers the details of how Aomine has drawn this stranger’s eyes and hair. “Could he be interested in men? If he’s not, you can introduce me.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Aomine retorts with a glare. He doesn’t want to think about the sexual preference of his neighbor right now. “Well, I saw him usher in some friends once. There’s this tall guy with matcha hair and the other guy looked like he’s born to be chatty.”

The barrage of question continues.

“Are you friends now?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? He seems…” Satsuki peers closer to the image that Aomine has drawn. “Nice.”

Aomine shrugs his shoulders. Then Satsuki drops the damning question like a bomb. “Wait, have you talked to him? Do you even know his name?”

When Aomine doesn’t answer, she leers at him in dismay. She abruptly stands up and walks to the door. “Gosh, you’re pathetic. You’ve been neighbors for three months now and you still haven’t gotten his name!”

“Oi, where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I’m going exactly where you think I’m going!” Satsuki almost yells at Aomine.

“Shit, don’t you dare!” he warns, taking long strides towards the door. Aomine double bolts the lock before Satsuki can even reach the knob. “Please don’t interfere, okay? Please. This is the only thing I’ll ask of you.” Aomine pleads with her in a serious tone.

She scowls as she perceives the imploring look in his dark blue eyes. “Argh, fine! You are so stupid, you know? If you’re interested, why haven’t you made any moves on him yet?” She stomps back towards the living room and lets herself drop heavily on the couch, arms crossed over her chest. It frustrates Satsuki to no ends, that her best friend’s social and relational skills are forever stuck in the gutter.

The truth on her words stings, and he chooses not to aggravate this further by making any more comment. Because really, what shall he say to the blond? That he hears him crying his heart out every night?

Satsuki gives Aomine a pitying look, then throws her next question in a calmer tone this time. “So what else are you hiding from me?”

“You already know all my secrets.” He replies while struggling to maintain eye contact with her.

Aomine doesn’t bother mentioning the little notes that he sends the blond once in a while. It’s not exactly a move, he doesn’t even know what to call it but more than anything else, he just wants the blond to feel happier, somehow. He decides that Satsuki doesn’t need to know any of this, yet.

 

* * *

 

From the porch, Aomine watches, as the blond sorts through his mails. He’s standing at a good distance where the blond won’t notice him lurking by, but just enough for him to get an unobstructed view of the other.

Slowly, the oblivious neighbor goes through several envelopes, flyers and what appeared like magazines, even. Aomine almost forgets to breathe, as he perceives the blond’s hesitation to go through the rest of stuff he’s collected from the mailbox, as he reads from a piece of paper. His paper.

And Aomine stiffens as he sees a flick of the blond’s wrist. He watches slack-jawed as one of the blond’s graceful-looking hand easily crumples the note--all of Aomine’s hopes and pure intentions--in a tight ball of useless trash. And it felt like his own heart has been crumpled instead.

As his neighbor retreats back inside his own house, Aomine does the same. He feels heaviness in his feet and shoulders, though he’s carrying no load. Once inside, he quickly finds the sketchbook. With a firm resolve to disengage his thoughts from the unpleasant memory (even more so, to ease the pain), Aomine shoves the sketchbook in the deepest, darkest corner of the cupboard under the stairs, where he keeps most of his other worthless stuff that he can’t bear to throw away.

 

* * *

 

Aomine is one who holds high regard for other people’s privacy. Unfortunately, he can neither bring himself to avoid eavesdropping nor at least look away from the commotion unfolding at his neighbor’s porch one summer afternoon.

 A tall, broad-shouldered guy with dark cornrows for hair arrives and moves about like he owns the place. The blond doesn’t let him inside the house and not long after, both of them seems to be sinking into a tensed discussion. Aomine notices that cornrows guy can’t keep his hands to himself despite the blond’s obvious unwillingness to be touched.

“Just leave me alone!” Aomine catches the sharp, biting tone coming from the blond. But this cornrows guy continues to invade his neighbor’s personal space causing Aomine’s growing disdain for the stranger to heighten by the minute.

“Babe, please…” cornrows guy insists.

The blond retorts, “Go away, Shougo! It’s over between us!”

Aomine finally has a name. But this Shougo guy refuses to get the hint and instead, proceeds to grab the blond sharply by the shoulders then pins him against the wall. Aomine seethes from his spot, both fists tightly clenched. If this Shougo guy doesn’t get off the blond in three seconds, he’ll walk right there and punch the bastard’s face.

He hears Shougo say, “But it’s you that I love,” yet the blond no longer wants to hear any of it so thankfully, he’s been strong enough to push Shougo away.

“Don’t you ever come back here!” the blond yells furiously before slamming the door in Shougo’s face.

That night, Aomine lies in bed, eyes wide awake in the darkness yet again, listening to the familiar sounds of crying from the other house. The anguished sobs have been more audible this time, as if his neighbor has completely lost his hold over all his emotions.

Aomine gets up and flips on the lamp just above his head frame. Pushing the blanket aside, he stands and walks towards the wall where the sound is coming from. He puts a palm against the smooth surface and imagines the blond crumpled on the floor, his lithe body racked by overwhelming sorrow. Aomine closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the wall. Now, more than ever, he understands the torment, the betrayal the blond must’ve felt, the pain expressed through every grief-stricken whimper, on every stifled cry.

Consumed by a feeling of helplessness, a heavy sigh escapes Aomine’s chest.

Yet the sobbing continues, piercing the walls, piercing his heart.

“It’s alright… It’s gonna be alright,” Aomine whispers into the cold slab of concrete in front of him, hoping that it will somehow carry his thoughts to the person at the other side.

Realizing that he won’t be able to go back to sleep any time soon, Aomine dashes down to the cupboard under the stairs and retrieves the sketchbook he thought he’ll never touch again. Upon returning to his bedroom with both sketchbook and pencil in hand, Aomine sits on the floor and leans his back against that wall that separates him from his neighbor. He seizes a portrait of the blond from his imagination and with the seasoned hand of an artist, he draws and translates everything he sees with his mind’s eyes on the paper in his lap.

 

* * *

 

 

Just minutes before dawn, Aomine slips quietly through the front door. He hears the distant blare of police cars patrolling but other than that, not a sound can be heard anywhere from the area; the morning chill is still thick in the air, the lampposts dotting the sidewalks still lit. After making sure that the street is entirely deserted, Aomine saunters quietly towards the house adjacent to his. Perhaps because it’s been ages since the last time he’s done this that Aomine feels a strange combination of embarrassment and sympathy because the blond had been obviously displeased with his notes, and yet he can’t just bury away the concern that he has for the other.  He casually slips the folded paper into the mailbox.

Unexpectedly, A voice cuts through the silence the moment he scurries back to his abode.

“What did you just put in there?”

Aomine’s head snaps to the direction of the speaker, his sight locking in quickly into the blond, who is just getting up from his sitting position on the front steps. Internally, Aomine panics and wonders how he could’ve not seen this person while he’s been there all this time.

The blond’s honeyed eyes fix on him with suspicion while he moves closer to the mailbox. And Aomine can’t help but grimace as the blond plucks the paper from the inside and slowly unfolds it with lithe fingers.

As if Aomine doesn’t already know, the blond lifts and turns the paper slightly onto him to reveal its content. This time it’s a sketch of the blond, laughing, as he sits over a concrete ledge, flowering bushes behind him. In Aomine’s handwriting, the message goes:

_Let your smile change the world, but don’t let the world change your smile._

“So, it’s you.” The blond simply says. And Aomine isn’t sure if that is a question or a declaration of how busted he is.

“So it’s me,” Aomine attempts to keep his composure through unwavering eye contact. He tries to smile, at least.

Unfortunately, the blond doesn’t smile back.

“If you think you can woo me with your little notes and get into my pants while your girlfriend’s not around, you’re wrong because I can see through you and I’ve enough of being someone’s spare tire.” The blond’s voice is frozen cold. Even in the half-darkness of their surroundings, Aomine can practically see daggers within his golden eyes.

Aomine blinks in confusion and almost keels over as he tries to process the words he’s heard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not even in a relationship right now.” Aomine says, and later, regrets that he just disclosed his dating status to his neighbor.

“Oh?” the blond taunts, cocking an eyebrow. “And what about the pretty girl with sakura hair who keeps coming over to your place?”

“Satsuki? Shit, no, she’s just my best friend!” Aomine explains but by the looks of it, the blond doesn’t look so convinced.

“And why should I believe you?” Obviously, telling the blond neighbor that he has no romantic ties with Satsuki won’t ever be enough.

It’s likely that whatever excuse he comes up with, Aomine will never successfully convey his good intentions to his neighbor. Now that he reflects on his actions, it’s no wonder that the blond feels too creeped out with the anonymous doodles and notes.

Aomine rakes his fingers through his dark blue hair before he speaks. “Look, sorry…please don’t rip it in front of me. I just thought you need some cheering up because… I used to hear you cry at night.”

This admission catches the blond off-guard as his expression shifts into something akin to bewilderment.

“Y-you hear me…crying?” Eyes wide, the words tumble out from the blond’s lips, his tone dropping into a helpless squeak.

Aomine nods then looks away. He wonders how awkward this situation can get. For both of their sakes, he decides to put a closure to this once and for all. “Uh, yeah, so…let’s just forget about this. I promise you, this won’t happen again.” He pushes both hands into his pockets before slowly trudging back to his house.

“Wait,” the blond says. “You didn’t tell me your name,”

Aomine halts his steps, turns back to the blond, hope flourishing within him like a flower blooming in the early days of spring.

“Aomine Daiki. I live next door.” He replies tentatively.

Patiently he waits as all of his attention focuses on even the minutest details of the blond’s face. And through the short silence, Aomine finds it amusing, how his neighbor had slightly chewed on the corner of his bottom lip before finally answering.

“And I’m Kise. Kise Ryouta.”

 _Kise._ Yellow and bright like the sun. How perfectly appropriate, Aomine muses.

Kise walks closer to Aomine, his gaze steady and curious on the latter’s face. He clears his throat before saying, “Listen, I’m sorry I’m rude earlier. There’s a lot on my mind and I get confused…but, um, your sketches are lovely. So thank you.”

“You like them? I thought you’re just throwing them out,” Aomine asks if just to be sure that he’s heard his neighbor right.

“Of course not, why would I do that? I keep them all in a box near my bed. I look at them when I feel sad and it never fails to brighten my mood.”

In the horizon, the sun rises in full radiance, just as a smile dawns on Kise’s lips. And Aomine swears that he just felt his heart skip a beat.

And Aomine can’t contain the bubble of happiness that manifested itself in a smile of his own.

“Well, Kise, welcome to the neighborhood.” One of his hand has half-consciously found its way into the nape of his neck. Out of nowhere, he blurts, “Um, would you like to get some breakfast?”

“You cook?” Kise appears intrigued.

“Sorry to disappoint, but no…” Aomine amends. “But I know a place that’s within a short walk from here. They serve coffee and… good cinnamon rolls,”

Yes, he assumes Kise is someone who enjoys cinnamon rolls.

“Hmm… sounds like a good idea. I love cinnamon rolls.” Kise beams with a slight tilt of his pretty blond head.

Side by side, the pair of them walk leisurely, smiling and chatting like some old-time friends.

Satsuki’s words briefly flashed at the back of his mind and he wonders if she’ll consider this to be a good move.

And beginning that day, no broken sobs have been heard from the other side of Aomine’s wall.

 

* * *

 

 

When Aomine leans in to kiss Kise countless of days later, he knew; he’s found something that's more than a masterpiece.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader, thank you so much for getting to the end and throwing in some love. I have no other words and have nothing more to give than a heart bursting with gratefulness. <3
> 
> The writing prompt is from [happylilprompts ](http://happylilprompts.tumblr.com/post/155868466994/some-neighbor-aus-for-ya-guys) @ Tumblr.  
> ~  
> I’m daydreaming elsewhere, holler at me: [ vanilla-daydreams](https://vanilla-daydreams.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr ^_^
> 
> [Note for myself-- experimental, out-of-comfort zone writing #1]


End file.
